Two Berlin detectives attempt to investigate a strange murder, with the only clue being a piece of paper with a name on it. Continues in NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH, GENESIS, and THE LAST OF THE NSHEOS.

Submitted: September 10, 2017

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Submitted: September 10, 2017

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The body was positioned at a strange, distorted angle, as if the murderer had tried to recreate
a grotesque scene from a medieval Danse Macabre painting. Detective Kai Blödtraum carefully wiped off remnants of coagulated egg yolk from his mustache and squinted at the dusty light
bulb. It was four o’clock in the morning, and dawn had already begun to color the roofs of old Berlin houses in playful shades of tender apricot. The bright electric light was out of place
and unwanted.

The dingy one-room apartment in a tumbledown four-story building near the Kottbusser Tor station
had clearly been abandoned by its owners, and yet untouched by the marvels of gentrification revitalizing the Kreuzberg borough, traditional home of expats, counterculture, and romanticized crime.
The apartment was devoid of any furniture, with the notable exception of a rickety brownish cupboard with a large copper statue of the bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara sitting on top of
it.

“He looks familiar.” Blödtraum’s voice was raspy. He cleared his throat and
coughed.

“I mean, that name… It’s common, right? Like your name. I mean, your name is common. In your
circles.”

“It is common.” Sentürk nodded thoughtfully. “I had this friend called Rajendra von Hinterlaus.
I think that was, like, less common. Even in your circles.”

They went silent. Sentürk’s eyes were roaming the room, trying to avoid any contact with the
corpse.

“What do we do now?” Blödtraum raised his hands theatrically. “This guy is found dead in this
abandoned apartment, his skull smashed with a sledgehammer or something…”

“Like this one.” Sentürk pointed at a sledgehammer accurately nested on a fluffy pillow covering
an otherwise empty toolbox.

“We’ve been over this.” The irritation in Blödtraum’s voice was palpable. “It’s new. Completely
clean. You’d need some tools and quite a bit of time to wash off all the... you know. Why would the murderer do that? It makes no sense.”

“Like the sixth season of Lost.” Sentürk shook his head. “Man, am I the only one who
thinks that they shouldn’t have done that whole afterlife thingy? And they never explained that thing with Walt, and the numbers, and why Jacob’s mother –“

“All we have is a piece of paper,” Blödtraum interrupted. “A piece of paper he was clasping…
With one name on it. Chris Green. What kind of a name is that?”

“Yeah.” Sentürk peeled a bit of wallpaper off the decrepit wall. “Green. Not Blue or something.
Or Magenta. Chris Magenta. No, that sounds like a porn actor.”

“We don’t even know whether it’s Christian or Christopher or whatever other name it’s short
of…”

Sentürk made a tiny roll out of the wallpaper scrap and threw it away.

“We can’t, like, google it or something, right? There would be, like, a million
results.”

“Already tried.” Blödtraum sat down on a pile of dusty old newspapers that the former owner had
been apparently collecting. “It’s a mess. Only on the first page there’s a horseman, a baseball player, a railway manager, an Amazon specialist, a Pentecostal theologian, and a guy writing short
stories on some website called Booksie. All Chris Greens.”

“Maybe it’s the same guy,” Sentürk said encouragingly. “Maybe he teaches theology on a horse in
a railway station while writing stuff.”

The door opened with a menacing squeal.

Blödtraum sprang up, a 1976 edition of Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung firmly attached
to the bottom of his trousers.

A casually dressed, gray-haired man stood in the doorway, seemingly absorbed by a multi-colored
ice cream he was scrutinizing from beyond semi-transparent sunglasses.

Sentürk made a move towards the sledgehammer. The stranger tilted his head. Sentürk stepped back
and scratched his nose.

“Hello.” The stranger spoke in English. “I’m terribly sorry to intrude like this. My name is
Chris Green.”

Sentürk opened his mouth.

“May I see some identification, please?” Blödtraum frowned, discreetly disengaging his posterior
from the sticky newspaper.

The stranger accurately placed the ice cream on top of the statue of the bodhisattva
Avalokiteshvara. Thawing raspberry and caramel-flavored milk flowed into the bodhisattva’s impassive left eye.

The man who called himself Chris Green sighed and spread his hands.

“Identification?” He shook his head indignantly. “Really, now… Why don’t you show me
some identification?”

Blödtraum grimaced. His mustache drooped over the corners of his mouth, like the whiskers of a
walrus.

“I’m Detective Blödtraum, and this is Detective Sentürk –“

“You pronounce it wrong,” Sentürk said. “There must be a special letter that stands for a
sh sound, like in schön. Not the z sound, like in Sahne. I’ve told you many times.”

“– from the Berlin Police, Directorate Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg.”

“I see, I see.” There was unmistakable sarcasm in the stranger’s voice. “Berlin Police… Direct,
orate, free drinks, hymen, Trotsky... These are just words!” He shouted unexpectedly. “Words! Words! Wooooooords!!”

Blödtraum froze. Sentürk made a careful step towards the sledgehammer.

“Sir, perhaps you need –” Blödtraum began diplomatically.

“What I need,” Chris Green spoke calmly, “is Brahms’s Fourth Symphony in e minor. The second
movement, in particular, is soothing. The way the main theme alternates between the tonic and the modal-sounding secondary harmony is quite ingenious, really.”

“Sir, we really need to see some ID.” Blödtraum stretched out his hand.

“I’ll show you ID…” Chris Green mumbled, fishing out an outdated iPhone from the side pocket of
his jeans and fumbling with it for a few seconds. “You!” He suddenly pointed his finger at Sentürk. “You know what you said just before I entered this God-forsaken place? You said, ‘Maybe it’s
the same guy. Maybe he teaches theology on a horse in a railway station while writing stuff.’ Am I right?”

Sentürk blinked in disbelief.

“You were listening,” he said incredulously.

“Oh really? Was I also listening when you said, a few minutes ago, ‘I had this friend called
Rajendra von Hinterlaus. I think that was, like, less common. Even in your circles.’ Even if I did, do you think I would’ve remembered that stupid name now?”

“Give me that!” Frowning angrily, Sentürk tried to pry the iPhone from the stranger’s hand. He
dropped the phone, but Blödtraum quickly picked it up.

“Oh, please, be my guests.” Chris Green made a broad gesture. “It’s all in there. The Booksie
website. See? This is my unpublished draft of a short story. It’s not finished yet. Just read from where the dialogue begins.”

Blödtraum read aloud:

“‘He looks familiar.’Blödtraum’s voice was raspy. He cleared his throat and
coughed.

Blödtraum’s grip loosened. The iPhone fell on the floor with a dull clang.

“How…” Sentürk murmured. “How is this possible?”

“It is possible.” Chris Green nodded solemnly and grabbed the phone. “It’s hard to accept, but
it’s possible. You see…” He sighed. “You see, you are two characters in my short story. Tentatively entitled Existence, it begins with a murder investigation, the only clue being the name
Chris Green scribbled on a piece of paper. The two detectives, Kai Blödtraum and Alp Sentürk, eventually meet Chris Green, who reveals to them that they are actually characters in his
short story, tentatively entitled Existence, which begins with a –”

“Stop it!!” Sentürk screamed, covering his ears in fear.

“Why ?” Chris Green asked calmly. “Aren’t our real lives even stranger than that? In another
short story of mine, No Windows, everything in the world simply disappears, step by step, starting with computer software and ending with people. In Banana Petroleum, ominous
linguistic absurdities are only resolved with the help of an existential plot twist. Anything can happen. And this story…” He scratched his chin. “Well, the reason why I’m communicating with you
two is you.” He nodded at Blödtraum.

“Me?” Blödtraum’s voice was quivering.

“Yes, you. You are a crossover character. See this guy holding a bunny? It’s an interesting
breed, by the way. The bunny, not the guy. A Dwarf Hotot – aren’t they just the cutest, fluffiest things? Anyway, that guy is Oleg Roschin, another author publishing on the Booksie website. He
writes those interconnected futuristic stories with recurrent characters. Your American relatives are somewhat prominent. There is Archie Bloedtraum, a saxophone player, who, in the short story
Nothing but the Truth, effectively triggers the Second Cold War in the year 2079. And another Bloedtraum is a raunchy psychologist on the planet Toliman a few centuries later. Featured in
The Last of the Nsheos – a pretty good story, if I do say so myself.”

“This is not real.” Blödtraum spoke slowly and monotonously. “This is a nightmare. I’ll wake up
soon.”

“And then what?” Chris Green spread his hands. “You’ll still have no idea where you come from,
why you are in this world, and what will happen after you die. So what’s the difference whether you are a character in my story or in someone else’s? Think of it! You haven’t created yourself. That
much is certain. But you can create. This is a paradox that underlines our entire existence. We are limited, but we have the keys to the kingdom of the unlimited. And the source of
everything must be there – in a world that is as unreal to you as our real lives are unreal compared to –“

Suddenly, Sentürk leapt at the older man and caught him by the collar of his
shirt.

“Who is the murderer?!” He bellowed. “You… you… maniac! It’s you! It’s all you! Did you kill
this guy? Why did you do it? Why?!”

Chris Green firmly pushed the detective away.

“I’m not the murderer,” he said quietly.

“Then who… then who…” Sentürk swallowed hard. Sweat was pouring down his
forehead.

“It’s you,” Chris Green whispered.

There was a prolonged silence.

“I’m not –” Sentürk stumbled, knocking down the statue of the bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara. It
tumbled with a muffled bong. Ice cream trickled down the wooden surface of the cupboard.

“Sorry, but that’s how I envision the ending of my story.” There was a sympathetic note in the
writer’s voice. “After you realize that both of you are characters in it, you begin to think that you can become more ‘real’ if you kill the ‘unwanted’ character created by another author. So you
kill your partner.”

“Very funny!” Sentürk laughed, visibly relieved. “My partner is right here, alive and well. That
guy –“ he nodded at the corpse.

“That guy – what?” Chris Green tilted his head. “Did you notice how you never looked at his
face? It’s a psychological moment. I worked it into the story. Here.“ He tapped the iPhone screen. “Sentürk’s eyes were roaming the room, trying to avoid any contact with the corpse. Not
the best description, but it’s still a rough draft, I told you. Why were you avoiding contact, my friend? Isn’t that because you didn’t want to look into your victim’s dead
eyes?”

“Oh, there is an explanation for that.” Chris Green’s tone was almost cheerful. “This all
happens in a universe I created, right? This universe has rules – because, without rules, it wouldn’t be a universe, it would be sheer chaos. But I can bend the rules of my universe; I just
shouldn’t do it too often. Special effects should be sparsely used, otherwise they wouldn’t be special. That doesn’t mean there are no such effects. On the contrary, they make our lives even more
mysterious and interesting. So, in this case, the special effect is a time loop. Obviously, I, the creator, am outside of this story’s timeline – I observe its past, present, and future
simultaneously. But in this particular story, I’m also one of the characters – so, after revealing everything to you, causing you to be killed by your partner, I also reverse time, leaving only the
dead body for both of you to wonder, to guess, only for me to appear again, cause you to be killed… and then the whole thing would spiral again, like in a Bach fugue, like in an M.C. Escher
picture… where each end is a new beginning. Don’t believe me? Why, you are obviously in denial. You have looked at the dead man’s face. And you’ve seen something you aren’t yet willing to
admit. You’ve seen yourself.”

Sentürk stepped forward.

“Listen.” His voice was firm. “I don’t care who you are. You’re, like, Jacob from Lost…
or something like that. I don’t care, okay? But I know one thing. You can’t force me to murder anyone. Not my partner, not anyone else. I’m standing in front of you, right here, right now.
And I know that I’m free. Get it? And there is nothing in this world, nothing at all –“

He didn’t finish the sentence. A deafening blow fell upon his skull, driving the bones deep into
his brain. He was dead in an instant.

Kai Blödtraum stood over the corpse, the sledgehammer in his hands.

The sun rose over the city, filling it with warm light.

Chris Green didn’t move.

Blödtraum raised his head, his eyes meeting the writer’s.

“I… saw that it was him.” Blödtraum’s voice was barely audible. “The corpse. I… I
panicked… Was it fate? Or was it… you? Or… isn’t that the same?”

“It’s not the same.” Chris Green shook his head. “I gave you the same chance that I gave him. It
was you, my friend. And now I ask you – do you want another chance?”

Blödtraum sobbed hysterically.

“Yes! Yes! Please… It will be different this time… Please!”

“All right. Just let me finish this story,” Chris Green said quietly.

He opened the door and saw a round-faced, dark-haired man holding a dwarf
rabbit.

“Chris Green.” The man smiled. “What a wonderful performance. Tell me, how does it feel to be a
character in my story?”

Chris Green shrugged his shoulders.

“The only thing I’m feeling right now is relief, Oleg. It’s your story after all, so I don’t
need to proofread it for typos, awkward phrasing, and possible grammatical errors before posting it on Booksie.”

“Hmm… You do have a point. You know what, I can’t sleep anyway, I might as well finish the story
now. Do you mind holding the bunny for me?”

“Not at all,” Chris said. “Need to control those little fellows before they mutate and conquer
the world.”

“Exactly.” The stranger laughed. “And the story has to continue. Let’s
see...”

Walking along Reichenberger Straße towards Kottbusser Tor station and inhaling the fresh
morning air of Berlin, Oleg Roschin experienced a strange sensation. It was as though the dead body, the bizarre appearance of Chris Green, and the subsequent murder had never happened. And yet,
Oleg couldn’t quite shake off the feeling of peculiar familiarity with the scenery. Had he been there before? Peeking through the broken glass of the dilapidated window, he saw KaiBlödtraum getting his second chance, and made a mental note to himself to put one of his American relatives into an even more twisted situation in another story – perhaps taking place a few
centuries later, in a –

Add Your Comments:

Comments

Loved the Adaptation analogy, one my favs. As well as the name drop.
Really amazing writing Oleg. You have more talent in your pinky than I do in my entire body.
Incredible as always.

AuthorReply

Comment | 45 words

Sun, September 10th, 2017 8:06pm

You are too kind, Jason :) I disagree with your evaluation of our respective talents, and I can prove it. Your spleen, according to your own testimony, actually wrote an ode to itself once; mine, on the contrary, has never done anything of the kind :-()

This is a masterpiece, Oleg. A real mobius strip of a story, winding in on itself over and over. The characterisation is superb and the dialogue crisp and funny. How on earth did you manage to write something so accomplished in so short a time?
Regards
Chris
It feels great by the way to be a character in a story. It feels that I have arrived at last.

AuthorReply

Comment | 94 words

Mon, September 11th, 2017 12:57am

Thank you so much, Chris! I have to state with all seriousness that this story would have never been born without your stories. This is, essentially, a homage to your work. While I took the liberty of infusing it with certain "Oleg-style" elements, most of my inspiration for this one came from your style of writing. Actually, your literary devices in "Wet Blanket Ron" were the main driving force.

I seem to be writing with greater ease late at night; I wrote this one in two sessions that lasted approximately from 2 to 4am each :)

I would definitely say you would go so far in your life! Such an amazing piece written and so well composed and coherent ! That's what I like about your stories they're jam-packed with every detail so beautifully that invites its readers' attention! Very well done!

Oleg! How is it that you are able to think in such creativity? Your stories always have such flair, & a twist of such amazingly simple, yet at once, twistedly complicated plot-line, so as to completely confound the reader's brain & leave him contemplating the mysteries of the universe... Effectively this forces the brain to rededicate itself to the task that one initially embarked upon of paying utmost attention to the information you've given them to process! Then one begins to question ones self as to whether it could possibly be that deep, or if I'm just reading into it... And at that point I realize that it's because I'm actually reading into it that I can read into it, and that helps me realize that I'm not really reading into it at all & that's exactly how you designed it to be from the beginning, leading me back to being utterly convinced that you are a stupendous manipulator of words & ideas!

Congratulations!!

AuthorReply

Comment | 182 words

Mon, September 11th, 2017 3:07am

Thank you for your kind and insightful comment, my friend! :) I'm actually not sure myself whether this story really has some depth or it's just a fruit of my two sleepless nights ;) The main idea came to me as I was contemplating the Christian concept of God being outside of time and knowing everything beforehand, yet giving us humans free will. This is one of the many Christian paradoxes - Christianity is really as strange and as paradoxical as reality itself.

So I came with the thought of having characters play recurrent roles in a story, yet being able to "switch" their roles at will. Even though something was bound to happen between Cain (Kai) and Abel (Alp), nobody (not even God) could force a murderer to do his deed. Everything else is purely a "free variation", including the murderer getting a second chance not to commit the murder, and the "God" of this story (Chris Green) submitting to the role of "character" - which, along with his name, is a very vague hint at Christ... In short, I'm confused myself :-)

What a fascinating twist. Despite not reading any of the other works mentioned in the text, the message was clearly delivered without losing any impact. I first expected this to be a real mystery, but quickly realized that this is a satirical piece where the poor detectives are forced to acknowledge they're merely puppets forced to do as the scene demands.

The one small thing that I puzzled me was how realistic the murder/detective scenes are supposed to be. Assuming that it is the 21st century in the story setting (Iphone, booksie reference), there would be others at the scene to collect and preserve evidence, unlike here where the detectives are the only ones present. That said, this is just a minor detail. The overall story was excellent.

AuthorReply

Comment | 135 words

Mon, September 11th, 2017 6:35am

Thank you so much for your comment! In fact, the story doesn't begin with the arrival of the detectives at the crime scene; it is clear that they've been there for a while (Blödtraum says that they've already discussed before the possibility of the sledgehammer as the murder weapon, etc.). Everybody else is gone, and only Blödtraum and Sentürk are left to muse over what happened :)

Also, I was actually trying to show in this story that the detectives were NOT puppets. Chris Green merely told them they were characters in his (actually, my :)) story. He wasn't controlling them. He knew everything, but he wasn't forcing them to do anything. It is clearly proven by the fact that Sentürk refuses to be the murderer, but Blödtraum willingly assumes this role.

You know I honestly thought this was a take on the movie directed by Spike Jonze :" Adaptation" starring an actor named Chris Green, about A writer, Charlie Kaufman, who writes himself into the story, you in this case, ( even the part .."all the Chris Greens." made me think of "being John Malkovich, yet another Spike Jonze/ charlie kaufman film. But now I see it's part of the fan contest, really awesome.

AuthorReply

Comment | 58 words

Mon, September 11th, 2017 10:15am

I never watched "Adaptation", but I do remember "Being John Malkovich" :) There are a lot of stories that break the fourth wall like this; the one thing I wanted to do differently is to highlight a few philosophical animplications of an existence that is revealed to be as dependent on someone else (as I believe our existence is).

Very unexpected but very cool too. I can see this was a dedication to Chris' work and I love how you decided to do it, creative and funny in an odd ball way. You did go a little too far but I think that's the point and it works well, ha.

AuthorReply

Comment | 28 words

Mon, September 11th, 2017 10:11am

Thank you for your kind feedback, Becca. Yeah, I did go too far in this one. It was really late when I wrote that ending, like 5am :-()

I just want to repeat that this work is very similar to Mark Laidlaw's works. Experiments with a language with using a non English text, the atmosphere of sadness and judging with a mix of religion. Looks like were you using sample of my bad English? For example, “It's you,” I liked it. In addition, in my opinion you were referencing to name of band “Ice cream” in my story, right?

AuthorReply

Comment | 33 words

Mon, September 11th, 2017 10:03am

Thank you for your comment, Roman. "It's you" is correct English. And no, the ice cream was there just because Chris Green holds an ice cream on his profile photo on his website.

I'm thinking, the domino effect. One touches the other, and the other, and the other. What happens in the end is what happened in the beginning, sometimes centuries later. You can easily turn this into a series; The many Lives of Oleg Roschin, who was Oleg Weathers, who was Oleg Stottard, who was....... Another great story with surprises to discover, thanks.

Great job Oleg. It was suspenseful and a constant curiosity. I was wondering at what point BPBCC might jump into the scene and bludgeon all but the bunny. I especially liked the nod to world building and the rules within. I hope there will be more like this. It is very inspiring for creativity.
The thing I enjoy the most is your focus on the characters, their reactions, their words. I always enjoy knowing more about them.
I hope you have more sleepless nights.

Brian

AuthorReply

Comment | 47 words

Mon, September 11th, 2017 10:31pm

Haha!.. Thank you for your kind comment, Brian :) You really made me laugh with the suggestion of bludgeoning all but the bunny :)) The bunny is actually another real-life character here (besides Chris Green and myself), her name's Pita, and I'm holding her on my profile picture :-)

OK, Oleg,, you've definitely been hittin' the crazy sauce, lol. I'm surprised Chris allowed you to write him into this, but after I read one of his pieces last night I understand. You're both cut from the same cloth. Ha,ha, ha!!
With the fourth wall breaking and the dimensional time loop, I'm surprised you didn't lose your place in the space time continuum. By the way, how do you write yourself into a time loop and then write yourself back out? The whole theory of a time loop is an infinite piece of time looping back on itself. Once you're in it there's virtually no way out of it. Also, I think the actual term for time loop is Causality Loop
It's good work, Oleg. I don't know how you managed to stay sane writing it. Oh right, the bunny is all powerful. That's why everything works out in the end. Keeping all your elements together must be a chore, especially with all the tie-ins to your other works plus putting yourself into the story. Really entertaining read and awesome plot. Although, I think "GroundHog Day"(the movie) beat you to the time loop scenario. Watch it, if you haven't seen it. It's almost as funny as your story. Personally, I loved it, however I think I got lost somewhere in the middle, until I read "the bunny" then I knew the whole story was just you being control by your bunny to write this crazy stuff. You can't fool me your bunny is the actual writer, ha,ha,ha,ha!

AuthorReply

Comment | 270 words

Mon, September 11th, 2017 10:24pm

Haha, thank you for your great feedback, Jamey :)) Yup, I think both Chris Green and I have have a penchant for bizarre logic and absurd, that's one of the reasons he is one of my favorite Booksie authors, he is really incredibly creative :)

"Groundhog Day" happens to be my most favorite movie :) You made a very astute observation about this story paying a sort of a twisted homage to that wonderful work :-)

The thing about this time loop in my story is - and I'm not sure that I made it clear enough in the story - that it actually exists only because Chris Green wants to give Blödtraum a second chance. He knows that Blödtraum made the wrong choice, so he wants to recreate the scene with the dead body, himself appearing, and the choice given both to Blödtraum and Sentürk - perhaps once, perhaps many times, but probably not "until it's done right", as in the "Groundhog Day" movie.

The ending with Chris and myself is a vague blasphemous allegory, really :) It came to my feverish mind at 4am in the morning, after a sleepless night. But since the whole story is obviously an allegory, I hope God will forgive me that irreverent metaphor of the co-creator Chris(t) being "in the story" and saving the sinner, while the source of the story (myself) is not seen by anyone. So I create the story through Chris... and the bunny symbolizes another animal that "descends upon" Chris in the end. This is just one of the explanations. I don't have a "canonical" one yet :)

This is an amazing story! I love the twist. I see you have a creative and wandering mind like myself. I do look forward to exchanging stories with you. I'm cooking up a series of short stories here soon, the idea has been itching at me something serious.

Your story has vivid descriptions which helps visualize the scene and characters. I've seen characters meet their writers in other works, most notably the movie In The Mouth of Madness. In both your story and that movie, the writer shows a casual disregard for the wellbeing of his creations. In fairness, though, if my characters were capable of independent thought and action, I imagine they'd have some strong words for me. Overall a good read.

AuthorReply

Comment | 83 words

Mon, September 11th, 2017 10:07pm

Thank you, Arthur! I don't think Chris Green shows any disregard, though. He clearly lets both detectives to make their choices. He just lays out the truth to them - they haven't created this universe, they haven't created themselves. But they are free. And in the end (thanks to his prescience), it is actually revealed that the whole time loop was arranged by Chris Green to give Blödtraum a second chance! I think he should rather be grateful for such rare opportunity! :)

This was fantastic! The way you incorporated both, yourself and Chris Green into the story was awesome to say the least. The way you twisted reality into something so new and exciting was great, and the dialogue was so entertaining. This is just how I imagined it, being the characters alive within the story, where you, as the author, has full control in the end, even if it is the characters who steer a little of the story, haha. But yeah, great job. I don't think I'll be able to beat this piece because you have certainly done a wonderful job here :D

AuthorReply

Comment | 13 words

Mon, September 11th, 2017 10:03pm

You are too kind, Shada :) Thank you so much for reading and commenting :))

What a delightful story, Oleg, haha. I love stories like this where the fourth wall is peeled to show the several layers of writing, characterization and world building.
Alas, these types of reads are hard to come by! I really enjoyed the whimsical nature of this- and for some reason I feel like it still just works well even with authors and characters revealed.
Of course, I found it strange that one of the detectives would kill the other at the end for no apparent reason, because he saw that the other detective was dead so he decided to kill him???? I don't know haha.
But his question: Was it fate, or was it you, or was it both, is a wonderful muse. I would think quite a bit about this concerning my faith and my choices in life. I would wonder if I've actually already lived and things are just replaying and question how much say luck or God or fate had in my life.
I don't know if I'll ever find out.
It seems like the overarching story of this may never be completed- in this short story anyways. Gah, thinking about this is starting to make my brain hurt and thoughts swirl but it just makes me wonder you know. About that cat in the box, and outcomes and the stories that I've started and never finished and it just makes me ponder about how much control we really have over intrinsics, especially faith.
Forgive me, because I get anxious about this often, but I just wonder how the author of our faith measures its perfection, why some people gain none, a little, versus a lot. Of course, I would want a lot, but sometimes I fear I'd be the grain to be grown to the thorns or to fall the wayside.
We'll never know, of course, its all- like this short story, such a mystery to the detectives, trying to figure things out, just like I am, hahah. Sorry if this lacks cohesiveness.

AuthorReply

Comment | 103 words

Mon, September 11th, 2017 10:01pm

Thank you for your insightful comment, Ikeasha! I'm really glad that you were impressed by what is, in my opinion, the crux of the story. I think that Blödtraum committed the murder because he was a fatalist, he believed that since the dead body was Sentürk, it meant that Sentürk HAD to be killed. But Sentürk had the exact same choice (he believed the dead body was Blödtraum), yet he refused to become a murderer.

I also have a lot of questions to God, but I don't think they'll be answered over the course of our lives here :)